


Suddenly, Most Definitely

by x_art



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Mission: Impossible Fallout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:50:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: There were some things he might never be able to give. Guarantees of a long future, assurances they’d always be together, work together. But there was one thing he could do, a cautious step towards the happy ending he suddenly, most definitely wanted.





	Suddenly, Most Definitely

**Author's Note:**

> A kind of sequel to 'The Runner.'

Suddenly, Most Definitely

 

 

***

 

 

Washington, D.C.

 

 

The service was invitation only and the church was full.

At the end of a pew chosen for its proximity to the north-side exit and Wisconsin Avenue, Ethan looked around as discreetly as possible. It was late afternoon and the sun streamed in through the clerestory windows, casting colored lights on the attendees.

The crowd was noisy, mostly made of D.C. elite but scattered here and there were the hired hands. To the right and six rows down sat Agents Pendleton and Schurr. Pendleton had gotten his fair hair trimmed so short it seemed as if he were bald. Further on sat Agent Pavanaja with a dark-haired little girl. Ethan had heard Pavanaja had gotten married but hadn’t known about the pregnancy. He wondered if Benji knew. Probably, because now that he thought about it, Benji had gone silent on the subject of Jennifer Pavanaja’s beautiful green eyes. Ethan would ask Luther about it. People always thought Luther was a six-foot enigma but he was the biggest gossip in the entire IMF.

And speaking of…

Escorted by a kid young enough to still be in high school, Luther was wearing a beautiful black wool suit with a muted blue silk vest. Behind him were Jane and Benji and another agent Ethan knew only as Sam.

Wondering how Luther had found time to get to his condo because he hadn’t had that suit in Paris or London, Ethan watched as the escort stopped at the pew across the aisle and three down. Luther let the others pass in front as he examined the crowd. It took him a few seconds to find Ethan; his expression didn’t change but Ethan knew Luther was trying not to smile. Or roll his eyes because Ethan, still on semi persona-non-grata status, had decided to attend Hunley’s funeral after all, and incognito to boot.

Ethan shrugged a non-apology. Luther gave a tiny shake of his head and then edged into the pew, gesturing for the others to slide further down. He’d left room for another guest, which made sense. Luther was no longer the recluse he’d once been; he had a lot of friends and acquaintances.

One of whom was still missing but Ethan didn’t let himself think beyond that fact, focusing instead on the ribs that hurt and the beard that itched.

He hadn’t had much to work with, disguise-wise. After landing in D.C., he’d said goodbye to the team and Director Sloan, fully intent on following Sloan’s orders:, _‘Hunley would want you to be there, however, I advise you to go home and rest. Your injuries haven’t healed and I don’t need you embarrassing me right now during this delicate time of transition._ ’ All good points, but on the taxi ride from Dulles to the apartment, Ethan had second thoughts. Hunley, for all his faults, had come through for the team. Hell, he’d been _part_ of the team. _‘I’m starting to see why you guys enjoy this so much,’_ Hunley had said, grinning like a little kid.

Sitting in the taxi that smelled of cigarettes and bubblegum air freshener, Ethan had squeezed the handles of his go-bag and closed his eyes, using the minor pain as an anchor. He needed to do the smart thing. Sloan hadn’t been joking or overstating—she did not want him at the service and if he disobeyed and she found out, she’d make him pay. And then quite possibly, she’d make the team pay, so yeah, he had to do the smart thing.

None of it helped. The minor pain was too minor and his own advice was no use because it wasn’t as strong as his memory of the second that Hunley had died.

He’d believed Julia. She’d said she felt safer with him out in the world, that he’d been right to return to the field. She’d been telling the truth so yes, he believed her. But if that were the case, if he was so good at his job, why was Hunley dead?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Ethan had leaned forward and said, _‘I’ve changed my mind. Can you take me to the Cathedral?’_

He’d asked the cabbie to stop in front of a coffee shop four blocks from the church. Via a VPN, he’d hacked into the church’s webmail and found the event planner’s notes. A rapid review had shown Ethan that all of the guests had been sent RFID-chipped invitations and all were attending. The former wasn’t an unusual precaution—the guests included officials and dignitaries. It was, however, a pain because it meant he’d have to go old school. He’d logged off and hurried to the park that bordered the Cathedral’s grounds and then found a public bathroom.

Most of the lights inside the small building weren’t working and the mirror was banged up. It didn’t bother Ethan—he’d changed faces so many times he could do it blindfolded.

After he’d donned a relatively unwrinkled suit and a face that would hide his identity from superficial scrutiny, he’d headed for the church. The rest was as easy. He’d tucked his bag under a row of thick-leaved bushes and found his mark, a lone, elderly gentleman who was slowly making his way from the parking lot to the entrance. A gentle bump and a murmured, _‘I’m so sorry,’_ and Ethan had his own invitation. He should have felt some amount of shame but the need to pay his respects had been like a stone in his heart. Besides, the guards at the door wouldn’t turn away anyone over the age of seventy. It was a funeral, after all.

A funeral that wasn’t going anywhere fast and he did another survey, a quick back and forth. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long now. Up at the alter, behind the long black coffin with its spray of lilies and roses, the priests and assistants had gathered and were doing some sort of pre-funeral ritual. The crowd, as if anticipating the start of the service, lowered their collective voices to a hushed murmur.

And the space next to Luther was still empty.

Telling himself there was no need to worry but needing a distraction anyway, Ethan flipped through the program. The cover and insides were decorated with tacky clip-art angels and flowers. The verbiage was bland, garden-variety quotes about a life well lived and sacrifice. Hunley deserved better. He deserved a hero’s return, maybe a little damaged but definitely safe. But that was the life. Not everyone got their happy ending.

“Are you all right?”

Ethan didn’t jerk as the man next to him spoke. He bent his lips and said in his best German accent, “Pardon?”

“Oh, you’re from out of town?”

Ethan tipped his head. German? What had he been thinking? “Ja. I arrived this morning.”

“It’s very sad, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

The man’s smile was tinged with regret. “Alan was a good guy. I told him he should stay in the CIA—it was much safer than the IMF. We all know that IMF secretaries have a short shelf life, but he wouldn’t listen. He said it was his chance to get his feet wet again.”

Ethan pretended confusion as grief and anger surged in equal measure. The man was about fifty and looked like he hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in twenty years; who was he to say what was dangerous and what wasn’t?

“But that’s life for you,” the man added, unconsciously echoing Ethan’s own thoughts. “One minute someone’s there, the next…” He shrugged and glanced down at Ethan’s program. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Ethan followed the man’s gaze; he’d crushed the program, crumpling it into a distorted fan. Stupid. He rarely gave himself away like that. “Ja,” he murmured. “I am well.”

The man nodded sympathetically but before he could say anything else, two things happened: a priest stepped to the center of the chancel and a latecomer hurried down the aisle.

Ethan’s heart thumped and then steadied. Wearing the pale grey wool three-piece that he’d bought in London, Will paused in the center of the nave. He was obviously searching for someone; he turned right and then left, the rose-colored light from the stained glass windows shining a lop-sided triangle across his shoulder and back.

 _“Brandt,”_ came a stage whisper. It was Luther; he’d half risen and was waving Will over.

Will smiled and then continued on down the aisle. With a patent, _‘Sorry I’m late. How are you? Is this for me?’_ gesture, he took the seat next to Luther.

Will was a good agent and a better spy. He leaned around Luther to nod a hello to Jane and Benji and then faced the alter. He didn’t scan the crowd as Ethan had. He didn’t speak to Luther. He just opened his program and began to read.

Somehow Will’s composure restored Ethan’s. As the priest raised his hands and started the service, Ethan smoothed out his creased program and bowed his head, too.

***

Ethan left during communion. It would have been a perfect time to greet his team but he decided not to risk it. Luther and Benji had a pass for what had happened in France but as team leader, the director had made it clear he was on shaky ground. Besides, there was no way Sloan wouldn’t recognize him; she was sitting in the front pew opposite the family.

So he bobbed his head, mimicking a devotion he didn’t feel, and made for the side aisle.

As he was leaving, he saw his elderly gentleman. The man had stood up and was waiting for the people in front to file out for communion. Figuring what had worked once would work again, Ethan bumped into the man as he passed the pew, neatly slipping the invitation back into the man’s pocket.

***

The falling sun had turned the sky a navy blue by the time Ethan got to the apartment. He opened the door, not too surprised to find that a couple envelopes had been slipped under the door and that the place was unoccupied. He’d taken the long way home, yes, but the funeral included a reception at Hunley’s favorite restaurant, _La Merise_. _La Merise_ served the best  _boeuf bourguignon_ Ethan had ever tasted; the guests would be there until the staff kicked them out.

He sighed, picked up the envelopes and then locked the door.

***

After a short shower to clean off the dirt and the glue from the beard, Ethan changed into a t-shirt and sweats and padded to the kitchen. His hair was still wet and he rubbed it with the towel absently as he stared at the refrigerator’s contents. Or lack thereof. Three Anchor Steams and—he opened the carton of eggs—two eggs, one of which was broken. So, beer and an egg.

The cupboards weren’t any fuller. He found a box of old linguine tucked behind a bag of rice, both long past their sell-by-dates and an even older can of chicken soup.

There was a shopping list on the refrigerator that included a single word: _everything._ He unclipped the list and threw it in the recycling. If he’d been thinking straight, he would have remembered the shopping but he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been like an exhausted salmon making a beeline for home—single-minded and focused to the point of catatonia.

Ethan cracked a smile. Tortured in every way, he’d been strung up, beat up, shot at and electrocuted but here he was, reduced to feeble metaphors because the refrigerator and apartment were empty. It was funny, considering.

Leaving the egg, he snagged a beer and tossed the towel on the island counter. It was going to be a pretty night; he’d sit out on the balcony and watch the boats on the Potomac.

***

It had been worth it, Ethan mused as he sipped the beer and tracked a twelve-foot skiff that was slowly making its way up the river. The astronomical deposit and rental fees of the _Naval Yard Reserve: Luxury Living At Its Finest_ had been worth it. Some distance away from the actual naval yards, Ethan hadn’t wanted to even do a walk-through, turned off by the snobby, ‘luxury living’ and the glossy, four-page pamphlet that had featured a lot of photos of equally glossy thirty-somethings who in real life would never have been able to afford the monthly rent, never mind the deposit. But he’d gone, his mind changed the moment he stepped across the threshold. The converted warehouse was expensive yes, but it was surprisingly quiet and gave the illusion of privacy thanks to the thick floors and the brick walls that separated each balcony.

The building was a mix of apartments and condos and if it weren’t for his career and that each mission might be his last, he might actually consider buying one.

The thought triggered several others and Ethan’s quiet mood darkened. Feeling disoriented and off-center as if everything was blurry except himself, he took another sip of beer and then closed his eyes.

***

The smell of cooked onions and beef tugged him awake. He opened his eyes. The sky was black, the boats were gone and someone had put his bottle on the side table. That someone had also finished the beer. Ethan touched the bottle, moving it across the mosaic tabletop. _‘Accent table, Ethan,’_ he heard again. _‘It’s not a side table. It’s an accent table and we’re gonna need one because we’re gonna be spending a lot of time on that balcony.’_

Now, almost a year and a half later, Ethan couldn’t recall his own response, only that he hadn’t wanted to talk about tables, accent or otherwise. Back then, in between missions and duty, he’d been in a constant, let’s-go-back-to-bed kind of a mood that hadn’t included a lot of talking.

He bent his lips. It had been an unexpectedly satisfying few weeks, one they’d never had a chance to repeat. “Never say never,” he whispered and then, anticipation warming his entire body, he picked up the bottle, got up and went inside.

The lights in the main room were off but the kitchen lights were on, an oasis of soft white-gold. A thin strand of thready music drew Ethan across the big space. Dark and lush, it wasn’t until he was near the kitchen that he recognized: U2, _Achtung Baby; Until the End of the World._

He leaned against the island’s concrete edge. His towel was gone; in its place were a huddle of plastic grocery bags.

Will was facing the stove. He’d had gotten rid of his jacket but not his vest; his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow and he was wearing the _crap-is-it-the-twenty-fifth-already?_ apron that Ethan had bought him last Christmas.

Ethan set the bottle down. “Hey.”

Will didn’t turn. He stirred something that bubbled and hissed. “Hey.”

“When did you get back?”

Will glanced at his watch. “About six hours ago.”

“You went to the church straight from the airport?”

“Yeah.” Will stirred some more. “Same as the rest of the team, according to Luther. You?”

Ethan moved the beer bottle, centering it over the seam that ran down the middle of the concrete. “I wasn’t planning on it but I couldn’t—” He shrugged. “You know.”

“Yeah, I know. Everyone asked about you.” Will turned the burner down. “At the reception, I mean.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

“They know. Jane said she hoped your ribs were better.”

“Luther told you about that?”

“Oh…” Will tasted whatever it was he was cooking. “…Luther said a whole lot of things. Are you okay?”

“Of course, I am.” And then, before Will could call him on the lie, Ethan asked, “How’s Jane?”

“Fine. Frustrated.”

“She’ll be back in the field soon.”

“I told her that.” Will added salt and then tasted it again. “She said it’s not fair. You had the same injury and were back on duty within a month.”

“I didn’t break my T-twelve vertebra and I didn’t have two spinal surgeries,” Ethan reminded Will. “I had a burst disc; it’s completely different.”

“Try telling Jane that.” Will shut off the burner and then turned. He crossed his arms over his chest and met Ethan’s gaze. “I got some beef stew from the restaurant.”

The ceiling lights were the adjustable kind, ranging from stark white to soft gold. They were at full strength but even so, the brilliance was no help with Will’s opaque gaze. “Did you steal it or buy it?” Code for: _Does anyone know you were bringing it home to me?_

“What do you think?” And then Will shrugged, relenting only a little. “Are you hungry?”

The muscles in Will’s arms stood out in sharp relief; Ethan wondered if he could get away with a: _‘Let’s forget dinner,’_ if Will would push him away if he went over there and fell to his knees so he could lick a line up those muscles. Too soon, too soon, and he muttered, “Yeah,” and went to get the plates.

***

Divided by the accent-slash-side table, they ate out on the balcony.

Ethan tried to savor the food but it was too good and he was too hungry; sooner rather than later his plate was clean.

“Do you want some more?”

Ethan sat the plate down on the cement floor. It made a dull, clunking sound. “No.”

“‘Cause if you’re worried about calories, you shouldn’t,” Will added as if Ethan hadn’t said anything. “You lost weight.”

 _‘Again,’_ was the unspoken addition. “I’m fine.” He settled back against the lounge. The same as with the apartment and the view, he liked this furniture. The frames were sturdy and the cushions were comfortable. “So Luther gave you the details?”

“Actually, it was Benji. I cornered them both in the garden and told them to spill.”

Ethan figured most people would be upset at the idea of being the subject of conversation; he was glad—it saved him from rehashing things he didn’t want to rehash. “That’s why you got home so late?”

“That and I made a run to the grocery store. We were out of everything.” Will took a pull off the beer and then shook his head. “Did you really fly a helicopter?”

Ethan grinned. “I did.”

“Bet that was terrifying.”

Ethan’s grin became real. “It was. I still can’t believe I did it.”

“I heard the landing was rough.”

Ethan looked over. Will was staring out at the Potomac and he hadn’t touched his meal. Maybe he’d eaten at the reception though Ethan doubted it. Will liked social gatherings but he never ate or drank too much at them. It was a holdover from his security detail days, he’d once told Ethan—you never knew when you might have to run or fight, and it wasn’t good to do either on a full stomach. “I survived.”

Will smiled bitterly and then swung his legs over the edge of the lounge. “Yeah, you always do,” he said as he started to get up.

Ethan reached out and grabbed Will’s arm. “I survived.”

“I know.”

Ethan tightened his grip and repeated, “I sur _vived,”_ emphasizing the most important word.

Will didn’t move. And then, like butter melting in the sun, he relaxed and shook his head. “One of these days, Hunt…” Will set his plate down and moved over to sit on the edge of Ethan’s lounge. He cupped Ethan’s jaw and stroked his cheek. “Scruffy,” he murmured, glancing at the light beard. “Glad it’s not like in Paris.”

Ethan pushed into Will’s palm, his eyes half closing. “It’s never gonna be,” he replied. “As I’ve said repeatedly.”

“Better remember that.” Will tipped his head and leaned in, near enough to kiss. “Cause I told you, I’m out that door if I come home and I see anything like that beard you had in Paris.”

“You are, are you?”

“I am.”

Ethan didn’t budge. It was a waiting game, one developed over the months and then years, their own bastardized version of Zeno’s most famous paradox, with patience exchanging places with time and distance. Normally, he was the winner but maybe not tonight because he’d lied, the landing _had_ been rough in so many—

Will sighed and gave in, making Zeno a liar by closing the minimal gap. He kissed Ethan.

Ethan let out the breath he’d been holding. He hadn’t missed Will’s kisses. He hadn’t missed them while in Belfast or Berlin, or on the short flight to Paris or the shorter flight to London. He hadn’t missed them because missing Will hadn’t been possible. He’d had a job to do, he’d had to keep a clear mind. Common enough limits to a life lived within boundaries and danger and that was the problem, wasn’t it, how to work in the field without completely comp—

Will stopped kissing. “Hunt?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re thinking too much. Stop it.”

Ethan huffed a laugh and then, skin flushing, he tipped his head and opened his mouth.

Will made a soft sound; he dove in.

And just like that, between one second and the next, Ethan’s world snapped into place and his senses came back online with diamond hard clarity. He could hear a distant car alarm and the soft needy sounds Will made. He could smell the marsh that kept the Potomac at bay and Will’s own scent, a subtle mix of aftershave and sweat that always got him going. He could feel the muscles of Will’s back under the no-longer crisp cotton shirt, a line of hard strength that led to Will’s waist with its tiniest bit of fat. He loved that about Will, that combination of soft and hard but he was never going to mention it because he didn’t want Will to exercise it away.

Will drew back and his kisses changed, becoming shallow and playful. “Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“Feel like taking this show inside?”

If it were up to Will, they’d go at it out here because he’d had the data ready when he’d suggested they take a look at a newly converted warehouse near the crook of the Potomac. It was isolated, Will had said, with a three-mile clear zone to the nearest manmade structure. No one could track them, spy on them, or sneak up on them. Ethan had pointed out that they both made a living doing those very things and it wouldn’t be that hard for someone else to do the same. Will had conceded the point but had insisted on a visit, anyway.

“What is it?”

He gave Will a quick smile. “Nothing.

They gathered up plates and bottles; Ethan was beginning the chore of standing without letting on that his ribs had started to hurt when he paused. He looked up. “Hey?”

Will slide the glass door open with his foot. “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

He’d asked the same a long time ago when the concept of a _‘we’_ wasn’t even, well, a concept. But unlike before, Will just said, “Later,” and then, “I want to have a look at those ribs.”

***

 _‘Have a look at those ribs,’_ entailed a mostly-naked Ethan standing by the bed while Will circled him, poking this and prodding that.

“This is older by a few days; what happened?”

Ethan twitched as Will examined his upper back. “That was during the fight in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, Luther said it was a bad one.” Will moved around again, trailing the long fading bruise that curved over Ethan’s shoulder to his chest. “And this?”

“I think that was when I drove the van into the Seine.”

“Only you, Ethan,” Will muttered. “What about this? Does that hurt?” Will pressed his fingertips against Ethan’s seventh true rib.

“No,” Ethan said. Maybe it was the sixth—it was hard to tell from this angle. “It’s just a bruise.”

Will moved on to Ethan’s lower ribs. “What about this?”

Nearer the mark, Ethan caught his breath before saying, “No. I really am fine.”

“Luther said you had a concussion, four broken ribs, a cracked ring metacarpal, and a busted pinkie toe.”

“Luther was mistaken.” At Will’s raised eyebrow, Ethan clarified, “It was only three ribs and they’re almost healed.”

“It’s been eight days,” Will sighed. “A rib isn’t _‘mostly healed…’”_ He used air quotes. “…in eight days. I’d believe fourteen, but not eight. You’re not Superman.”

Ethan reached for Will’s hands; Will was getting worked up. Any second now he’d be pacing and stabbing the air with his finger as he cited IMF policy and statistics on the speed of organic recovery. “I’m fine. I’ve broken ribs before. You were there the last time. And if I recall correctly, you told me to suck it up because it wasn’t a big deal.”

Will’s expression wavered. “I’d just broken my wrist, all right? Compared to that, a fractured rib _isn’t_ a big deal, especially since I’d just—” Will rolled his eyes when Ethan’s smile broadened to a grin. “Oh, shut up.”

Ethan pulled Will close, sucking in his stomach as his bare skin met Will’s clothed body. “We had a mission,” he whispered into Will’s ear. “Most of us survived. Solomon Lane is back where he belongs, we stopped three nuclear attacks, and most importantly, we flushed out a mole. Now…” He bit Will’s earlobe and then shivered when Will arched and groaned. “Are you gonna complain all night or do you want to show me how much you missed me?”

***

Will showed Ethan how much he missed him.

Carefully because yeah, eight days really hadn’t done the trick, Ethan got them both naked, got them both in bed. On his back wasn’t going to work so he rolled to his good side and looked over his shoulder. “Well?” he said, giving it as much innuendo as possible.

Will snorted, got the lube out of the nightstand and then kissed Ethan’s shoulder. “You better not be lying to me,” he murmured as he gave the tube to Ethan.

Ethan slicked up Will’s fingers, accidentally using too much. “Damnit,” he muttered as the excess dripped onto the sheets. Hopefully, the sheets weren’t ruined—he liked them; they matched the color of Will’s eyes. “I’m not lying.” He capped the tube. “Anyway, would you stop if I was?”

“Of course, I would,” Will replied, adding absently, “Can you move? I need to…”

Ethan dragged a pillow closer and cradled it, leaning forward to make room. “So if I told you to stop right now you would?” He didn’t bother hiding his disbelief; he could feel the press of Will’s cock against the back of his thigh.

“I would,” Will insisted. “So would you.”

Thinking to answer, _‘Yeah, you’re right,’_ because they saved violence and pain for the job, Ethan’s breath stuttered as Will began his exploration.

Counting the mission itself as well as the week-long prep in the States, the two days in Belfast and the three days before all of that when they’d been too busy to do much other than fall into bed and say goodnight, it had been twenty-two days. Twenty-two days since Will had fucked him; twenty-two days since he’d repaid in kind.

Ethan had only ever counted the days between sex with one other person and what did that say, that he was now comparing Julia and Will and finding both equal? It meant something and he’d think about it all later…

Gingerly, because he didn’t want to make a wrong move, because he didn’t want Will to stop, he reached back and stroked Will’s arm. “You feel so good,” he breathed.

Will kissed Ethan’s shoulder again, this time using his teeth. “That’s my line.”

“I think you’re gon—” Will hit the sweet spot. Ethan gasped as a streak of fire raced up his spine and spread across his shoulders. He gritted his teeth and hugged the pillow, vision darkening, need coiling. When he could talk again, he ordered, “Do that again.”

Will did it again, fingers curling, thrusting against Ethan’s thigh as if he just couldn’t help himself. “Hey?”

“Yeah.” He stroked Will’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m good. I’m—”

Will didn’t wait, didn’t ask. He slipped his knee between Ethan’s legs as he slipped into Ethan’s body. “You better hold on to something,” he warned, wrapping his arm around Ethan’s waist. “I don’t think I ca—”

Ethan pushed back to shut Will up. He did it again, a subtle rock of his hips. “Don’t think,” he said, meaning it as another command, not ashamed when it came out pleading. “Don’t think. Just fuck me.”

Will laughed against Ethan’s neck and did as he was told, thrusting in as Ethan rocked back. “Yes, sir,” he breathed. “Yes, si…”

***

“You lied to me.”

“I’ll need specifics.”

Will rolled away and then pushed up on his elbow and placed a light hand on Ethan’s ribs. “I hurt you. Don’t tell me I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Ethan said, still in the colorless post-sex daze where everything was muted and hushed and perfect. “That.”

“Ethan…”

He shoved the damp pillow to the floor and then laced his fingers with Will’s. He tugged. Will came easily to land on his side so they faced each other. He stroked Will’s chin, tipping his head to the side. Will had a bite mark on his neck; Ethan knew he’d put it there but couldn’t quite recall the exact moment. “Sorry,” he murmured as he thumbed the red spot.

“No you’re not,” Will replied.

“No, I’m not.” He moved down to Will’s chest; he stroked a nipple. “Just as you’re not really sorry that you hurt me.”

Will drew a breath to answer and then let it go in a rush and a smile. “You’re a big boy. You would have stopped me if it got really bad.”

“And I didn’t because it didn’t.”

Will’s smile changed, softening to a smug grin. “It was good, wasn’t it.”

Ethan took Will’s hand and kissed palm; Will’s skin smelled faintly of cherry and the hand soap they’d bought in Madrid. “It was. Very much so.”

“I missed you.”

“I could tell. Me, too.”

It was the opening Will needed and Ethan wasn’t surprised when Will pulled free, when his happiness faded.

“Then why did you do that to me?” Will asked with only a trace of hurt. “Why send me to Toronto on a wild goose chase?”

“It wasn’t a wild goose chase,” Ethan said reasonably, knowing it for a mistake as soon as the words passed his lips. Trace or not, he’d been waiting for this for eighteen days. Will wasn’t stupid—he’d figured out that first week that Ethan’s lead wasn’t a lead at all and it was only by direct order from Hunley that had kept him in Canada. On the plane back to the States, Ethan had read the transcripts of the calls Will had made to Hunley; Will hadn’t been happy with either of them. “I mean,” he rephrased, “we really did need someone in Canada. Just because you didn’t find a link between Minister Benoit and Lane or Lark doesn’t mean it’s not there. That flat was a SCIF. Benoit had details of IMF missions that weren’t public knowledge. All of which means that Benoit could well be a part of the Apostle’s network. We’ll just have to approach it from another angle.”

“Now that Lark is dead and Lane is in British hands?”

“Yes.”

Will thought about that for a moment. “That’s not the whole story, is it.”

Ethan didn’t answer.

Will studied Ethan, then said, “Luther told me that Ilsa can go home.”

It was almost cute, Will’s divide-and-conquer tactic. Ever the CIA analyst and strategist. “If MI-6 keeps their word, yeah, she can.”

“That sounds less than positive.”

Ethan shrugged. “I asked her to stay in touch but she’ll know before we do if her handlers are lying.”

“She should move here.”

“What?”

“Call it a cultural exchange or international alliance—that way we can keep an eye on her.”

He wanted to laugh. For a moment he’d thought Will was proposing an alliance of another sort. If Will wasn’t stupid, Ethan wasn’t clueless; there was something between Ilsa and him and if he wasn’t where he was or whom he was with… “She was on the run for years. Hunl—”

He broke off. For a slit second, he’d forgotten. How was that even possible?

Will’s expression lightened. He said, clearly moving the subject to safer territory, “I think Benji has a crush on Ilsa.”

“He does?” Grateful for the diversion, Ethan inched closer.

“Yeah.” Will stroked Ethan’s ankle with his toes. “He said she saved his life in Kashmir. He wouldn’t shut up about her.”

“So she’s the new Jennifer Pavanaja?”

“Ilsa doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman to be the new anything.”

“She is one of a kind, isn’t she.”

Will nodded, silent for a while before adding, “Luther said that Julia was in Kashmir, too.”

 _Here we go._ “She was.” Ethan examined Will for signs of resentment or hurt. All he saw was a placid serenity, but he knew better… “She helped Luther dismantle one of the bombs.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Jesus,” he breathed. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“I asked him not to.”

“Why?”

“Guess?”

“Because,” Will said slowly, “you didn’t want me to be worried.”

“I wanted to be the one to tell you because I didn’t want you to be jealous,” Ethan corrected.

Will frowned. “I wouldn’t have been.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t,” Will insisted, his tone too loud, too adamant. When Ethan didn’t answer, he quirked his lips. “All right, yeah, I might have been jealous.”

“‘Might?’” Ethan murmured, glancing down at Will’s mouth. His post-sex daze was fading—if it weren’t for Will’s neat-freak tendencies, he’d happily stay in bed and work out their issues with more of the same.

“Well, Luther said she’s married and you just told me she saved your life which means she helped save a bunch of other lives, so no, I’m not jealous. I’m thankful. Maybe I should send her some flowers.”

Ethan didn’t answer. Obviously, Luther hadn’t told Will the whole story or maybe Luther just didn’t know—he’d assumed the team had listened in…

“Ethan?”

“I—” Ethan shook his head, remembering waking to see Julia, her words that had so quickly and precisely cut the last threads that had bound them together. They’d always be friends but his obligation had been graciously rescinded and he still couldn’t quite feel it. “I think it’s a good idea. I’ll order them tonight. Better yet, let’s donate to her company.”

“That’ll be a neat trick,” Will said as he pulled free and rolled out of bed. “Unless you paid the cable bill on the phone you can’t use or the computer you can’t connect to the internet while I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh, yeah.” Now Will-less, Ethan rolled to his back. “I forgot.” Along with the grocery shopping, he’d meant to pay bills that last day. Except Hunley had called with the news that the timetable had moved up and that Ethan needed to be on the Virgin Atlantic flight _now_.

He’d contacted the team and then called Will. _‘It’s not a big deal,’_ he’d said. _‘I’ll meet you guys in Berlin.’_ Famous last words. Days later, he’d sent Will west to Toronto because Benji wouldn’t shut up about the upcoming exchange and it in turn had planted a seed of doubt. Ethan had rationalized his next act by telling himself, _Just this once,_ understanding it was an excuse that was unreasonable and biased, but unable _not_ to. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“No.” Will tugged on the sheet. “ _I’ll_ take care of it tomorrow. You’re going to sleep late and then you’ve got a three o’clock with the senate sub-committee.” He tugged again. “A little help?”

Ethan got out of bed and helped Will with the sheets. The sleeping-in part was SOP after a mission, but the meeting? Generally, he got at least a few days off and senate sub-committees moved slower than snails. “When did this happen?” He took the bundle and tossed it on the chair and then followed Will to the bathroom.

Will leaned into the glass enclosure and turned on the shower. “Sloan’s assistant called while you were sleeping.” He tested the water. “It’s just gonna be you and Luther.”

Refraining from asking Will if he’d talked to the assistant directly, Ethan murmured, “Huh.”

“You know what that means.” Will held the door open. “And no, I didn’t speak to her—I let it go to voice mail.”

Refraining again, this time for not apologizing for being so cautious, Ethan gave Will a crooked smile and stepped in. The warm water coursed down his bruised back and he sighed, “It could be just a wrap up.” This was another thing he loved about the apartment—the shower was large enough to fit twelve.

Will leaned around Ethan for the shampoo. “Nope. It’s about the new Secretary, I guarantee it.”

“Probably.”

“Tip your head back so I can… There we go,” Will murmured as Ethan obliged. “I bet a million bucks they give it to Sloan.”

Thing three—or was it four?— was that the shower that could hold twelve but never did came with his very own Will. His very own Will who liked to wash his hair and shave him and protect him from harm.

Back in Croatia before Ethan had even known who Will was, he’d felt an intrinsic kind of trust for the agent who always stayed so close, who had a light step and was so good at spy craft. When the mission took its dark turn and the security detail found Julia’s supposed lifeless body, Ethan had viewed it all via closed-circuit TV. Four agents had entered the flat. Three agents glanced at the body and then skirted the blood and gore to begin their sweep. The fourth, however, had crouched next to the body. Sentiment wasn’t a desirable quality in their line of work and Ethan had been surprised when the man reached out but wisely didn’t touch. After a heartbeat, the man covered his masked mouth with his gloved hand. Too far away to make any difference, Ethan had found himself wishing he could offer some words of comfort because the man’s shock and grief had been plain to see.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Will was combing soapy fingers through his hair and it felt too good remembering something so dark. “I was just waiting for you to ask me if I’m mad that they’re probably going to give the job to someone else.”

That earned him a snort. “You behind a desk? I don’t think so. No.” Will rubbed Ethan’s scalp. “You’re where you should be. We both know that.”

First Julia and now Will. The comparison no longer seemed odd but it did beg the question as to how he had ever gotten to be so lucky.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

Will slowed down, gliding his hands down the back of Ethan’s head to his neck and then shoulders. “Why did you do it?” he asked again and now his voice was tinged with sadness.

Maybe it was a post-sex thing because Will had a way of making Ethan pliable and relaxed to the point of purring. Maybe it was because his recent almost-deaths were more than his normal few. Maybe it was seeing Julia again, or watching Ilsa struggle for freedom, or Hunley’s death…

…or maybe it was just time. Will had done so much for him and even though they’d been playing at house, it hadn’t felt real until Julia had said those magic words. It was time.

Ethan closed his eyes and leaned forward, letting the water rinse the soap from his hair, his face. Then he drew Will’s arms around like he was drawing on a particularly warm coat. “Because,” he said, sliding their twined hands over his stomach and then up to his chest. “I realized it was going to be a bad one and I needed you safe. Because after Benji and Julia, I had to make sure that—”

His throat closed up and he remembered an overheard conversation between Ilsa and Luther, and the truth as Luther saw it. _Because no one knows I love three people, not even Luther, and that’s my fault and some day I’ll find the words, Will, but not today, not now._

Will shifted closer until he was flush against Ethan’s back. “Do I need to tell you to never do that again?"

“I won’t.” And, okay, the way his life stood, there were some things he might never be able to give. Guarantees of a long future, assurances that they’d always be together, work together. A ring. But there was one thing he could do, one part of his battered soul he could offer up as a proof of love, a cautious step towards the happy ending he suddenly, most definitely wanted: “So, listen, I know I’ve always said it was too risky, but I’m thinking we could have a party. Just the guys and Jane and maybe—”

Will froze. “What?”

“Don’t you want to? You’ve mentioned it more than a few times.”

“Yeah, but you said it wouldn’t be a good idea. You told me—”

Ethan squeezed Will’s hand. “I know what I told you. I was an idiot and I was wrong.”

Will didn’t say anything for the longest moment. And then he rested his cheek against Ethan’s shoulder. “You’re okay with them finding out?”

“They probably already know, but yeah, I am okay with it.”

“Because we’re talking Luther, here,” Will added as if Ethan hadn’t spoken. “Everyone in the IMF will know by the end of the month and that includes all the sub-committees and councils.”

“I get it.”

“Maybe we should strategize about this, Ethan. We can make a plan. It might hurt your career because don’t ask, don’t tell didn’t work for a reason so maybe we should take a day or two to just strat—”

Ethan sighed. “Brandt?”

“Yeah?”

Slipping free, he turned. In the cool light of the bathroom, Will’s worried eyes were like green glass. “The water’s getting cold, I’m getting tired and we still have to make the bed.” Ethan stroked Will’s belly and hips, palming the long scar from the knife fight in Caracas. The wound had bled so much for being so relatively shallow. “It’ll all work out, I promise, but for now can you just shut up and hand me the shampoo so I can wash your hair?”

Will rolled his eyes and then hmph’d. But when he reached around Ethan for the bottle, he was already smiling.

 

_fin._


End file.
